


moon-climb / a ceaseless convergence

by crosswalks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (very light), First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Nostalgia, athletic tape, extended metaphors about tsukkiyama's general relationship, lots of hand holding, tsukki overthinking, yamaguchi being One Step Ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crosswalks/pseuds/crosswalks
Summary: “Is… is everything okay Tsukki? Those jammed fingers didn’t cut off circulation to your brain right? Oh I said that as a joke but now I’m really worried, please tell me that doesn’t actually happen—”“I’m fine, Yamaguchi,” Kei cuts him off with some exasperation, “and that could happen, but it’s unlikely mine would be serious enough to warrant an emergency room visit. You’d know this if you paid attention in class, no wonder you’re always over studying at my hou—““So you’re saying it’s possible??”or: Tsukishima is having trouble taping his hands. Yamaguchi is there to help.for tsukkiyama week 2020 day 1: kiss/affection
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 170
Collections: TsukkiYama Week 2020





	moon-climb / a ceaseless convergence

**Author's Note:**

> hello......this is is like. mind-numbingly gay. i love tsukkiyama more than i can really understand. i hope you enjoy!!!!

His hands aren’t cooperating with his brain today, Kei thinks with tired frustration. His temple is starting to seize up in annoyance at his unusual clumsiness: hours of extra blocking practice have finally caught up to his calloused, strained fingers. 

The sticky-hot club room is almost unsettlingly quiet, missing the mob of high school boys that lay claim to its linoleum floors and aluminum supply racks. It would be completely silent, Kei figures, if not for the _clack_ of his roll of athletic tape hitting the ground— followed by the sound of his exasperated sighs.

He’s been trying to tape his fingers for the last ten minutes or so, stinging pain in both hands making it impossible to achieve the right pressure or placement on his skin. Kei feels his prided level-headedness thinning with every _clack_ of the tape to the floor. He is _this_ close to throwing it back in his bag and just walking home, practice be damned, but he doesn’t want to think of the possible consequences. The image of a deceptively serene smile on tanned, freckled skin shakes him back to reality, and before he can stop that train of thought, so does a long-familiar voice calling him _TSUKISHIMA-KUN._ At the memory, Kei quickly resumes his shoddy taping.

The clubroom door heaves suddenly, startling him into dropping the tape almost immediately after he’d picked it up again. Kei cranes his neck to face the door, and is faced with Tadashi, who’s peeking his head in through the doorway. The captain’s attention drops to the object on the floor, and back up to Kei’s untaped hands (observant as ever, Kei notes. Not that he was being subtle anyway, with his visibly shaking fingers). 

His best friend quietly closes the door behind him as he walks into the room, and crouches down to sit in front of Kei, face turned up in a light smile. He nudges Kei’s arm with his elbow, which makes the latter’s brow furrow, if only in faux annoyance. 

“Tsukkiiiii,” Tadashi lilts, smile still in place, “if you needed help you could’ve just texted me. You do have my number saved right?”

Kei is taken off guard by this turn of events, having resigned himself to the eternally lonely torture of rewrapping his hands with throbbing fingers. He stares for a bit at Tadashi’s face, before remembering to respond.

“Why would I need to save your number when you’re always following me around, Yamaguchi.”

Said Yamaguchi’s black eyes shine with mirth at his quip, the color inky and deep. Kei forces himself to look away, before he’s tempted to stare at them too long, like he’s been prone to do lately. Instead, he looks away and reaches for the roll of tape still lying on the ground, desperate to stop the embarrassing situation in its tracks.

Just as he’s about to pick it up though, an impatient hand swats his away and grabs it first. He looks up at the thief’s face, only a bit taken aback by the seriousness in his gaze. Kei briefly wonders if he practices his signature Captain Glare in the mirror. It’s almost an art, he thinks, how softness and sternness can blend together, in the way that shows through his friend’s expression. His eyes shine similar to a particularly rough cut of obsidian: gentle waves of rock giving way to sharper, honed edges. Before Kei can further consider the unique qualities of said mineral, Tadashi is opening his mouth to speak.

“Give me your hands, Tsukki, I’ll take care of it,” he chides gently. Before he can protest, Tadashi’s taking Kei’s hand in his and settling it unceremoniously onto his thigh. 

_Oh shit,_ Kei thinks to himself, feeling the smooth muscle shift underneath his fingertips, _oh shit oh shit oh shit o-_

“You know,” Tadashi intones, rudely interrupting Kei’s panicking, “I really would’ve come if you’d texted, Tsukki.” He takes a moment to pull the tape free from its spool. “Unless you just wanted to skip out on laps,” he adds with a small laugh. The demon. And Kei knows that Tadashi would have come if Kei had asked him to (tries not to think too hard about what that means). But.

“The gym might burn down without you to keep everyone in line though, Captain,” he shoots back. And just to be petty, he continues, “though I don’t know if I should even call you that anymore, with how you’re sneaking around in the clubroom instead of leading practice like you should be.” 

Tadashi only swats at him with a playful growl, his smile big and content, before taking Kei’s hand again and securing the tape around his wrist. They’re thigh to thigh now, Kei’s hand more accessible from this angle. Tadashi hums while he continues taping up his friend’s palm, then around his fingers. Kei can’t help but relish in the touch of Tadashi’s hands to his, feels the gentle slide of rough skin stir up fondness in his chest.

Taping hands isn’t a delicate procedure by any means; there’s a bit too much jostling and squeezing for it to truly be. Nevertheless, Kei can feel his eyelids drooping with Tadashi’s movements, content with their closeness, as well as the sound of his best friend’s quiet singing. It’s the Pokemon theme song, he absently notes, allowing his mouth to curve into a tiny smile.

Tadashi finishes off the tape on Kei’s left hand and crawls over to sit at his right side, starting the motions again. There’s no rush to his movements, despite the knowledge that both of them are missing a good number of drills by lingering. Tadashi pauses as he finishes wrapping Kei’s pinky and ring finger together, and glances up at him, searching for his approval.

Tadashi must see something in Kei’s face then, probably something very embarrassing, because his eyes brighten the way they do when Kei lets him eat his leftover french fries. Kei turns his face away and drops his smile in mortification— but not before observing the bunching of constellations on his companion’s cheeks as he smiles. He files the image away in his brain for future study. 

Tadashi giggles, light and breathy, as he finishes up his work on Kei’s remaining hand, thank _god_. Kei is ready to finally get in the gym and block a thousand volleyballs, maybe even two thousand, maybe even two _MILLION_ , but Tadashi hasn’t let go of his hand yet. In his curiosity, he looks over to see his friend staring thoughtfully at his taped fingers, his own shorter ones ghosting over the wrapped knuckles. At Kei’s inquisitive noise, he jerks his head upward and lets out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a cough, cheeks tinged a dusty pink. The suddenness of it makes Kei jump a little in his seat on the floor. 

They stare at each other for a second, and Kei finds himself missing the moment already. 

“Sorry Tsukki!!” Tadashi blurts, face sheepish and voice flustered. “Your hands are just, uh…”

He trails off awkwardly, hand scratching at the short hair of his newly shaved undercut. Kei suddenly thinks that he really wants to replace that hand with his own, the impulse to reach out and _touch_ almost overwhelming him. He waits for the thoughts to come, the ones that always stop him from acting upon his desires. The ones that go: _Someone is going to see. You’ll scare him off. You’re going to ruin everything that you’ve built together. He’s going to run away and never look back. And for what? You’re happy the way things are. You’re happy the way things are._

Once, Kei had told himself these things every time they’d share moments like this. Every time Tadashi laughed a little too hard at his too-mean jokes, every time he’d lean closer than usual to Kei on their chilly walks home— he would repeat them in his mind, reminding himself not to get too carried away. They started out as half-truths, statements that Kei would use to punish himself for the unwanted thoughts he’d have about his best friend. He supposes that he’s repeated them so many times over the years that he’d really started believing them, somewhere along the way.

But then again, he remembers, he’d also once believed that he didn’t truly enjoy volleyball. 

“... and I’m really sorry, I know you said you don’t like holding hands anymore I shouldn’t have done that I really was just going to tear the tape off and let you go but I dunno something just came over m-”

Ah shit. Kei must’ve zoned out while Tadashi was talking. He would stop him there, because while he _did_ say those things to Tadashi, it was years and years ago, back before they even started junior high. Kei’s almost surprised that Tadashi even remembers, if not for the lasting image he has himself of his friend’s crushed expression.

Kei had told him one day that they needed to stop holding hands, they’re not kids anymore, people are going to start looking at them weird, and a bunch of other garbage that he doesn’t really want to remember. Tadashi had almost immediately started tearing up, his face crumpled into something even worse than the look he’d worn when those 4th-year bullies had thrown a backpack at his face. Younger Kei almost took back his words right then and there. Present-day Kei can’t even remember why he didn’t. Dizzily, he thinks that he wants to do it now. 

He listens to Tadashi ramble with some amusement for a bit longer, trying to overcome his awkwardness to speak up. Kei never knows how to approach these conversations, usually lets Tadashi initiate as he clumsily follows his lead.

After that moment at the summer training camp two years ago, after their bathroom confrontation during Shiratorizawa, something in their relationship had shifted. It didn’t happen right away, but, with much (much) effort, and unpracticed vulnerability, they started talking to each other, _really_ talking. It still feels uncomfortable sometimes, changing up their mode of communication so drastically. Kei still finds himself skirting his way around conversations instead of facing them head-on, and Tadashi struggles with his confidence in his words, despite having resolved many of his self-doubt issues. But they’re trying, despite their inexperience. Kei supposes this is as good a time as any to practice.

Tadashi is still going on about the hand-holding ( _wait I might’ve been overreacting does that count as holding hands it’s not like you held them back and I was just bandaging them anyw-_ ) when Kei finally musters up the words to say,

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

Tadashi stops mid-sentence with a jump, a comically blank expression on his face. Kei almost wants to laugh at him, but he does have other things he wants to say. 

“It… it’s fine,” Kei starts, voice almost a murmur, “I don’t mind. The hands.” 

Kei trails off, and pointedly doesn’t look in the direction of Tadashi’s gaze— can’t bring himself to, even though he desperately wants to see what kind of face his best friend is making. There’s more that Kei wants to tell Tadashi, but it seems that his brain has also chosen to cease cognitive functioning in addition to fine motor abilities. He doesn’t even want to know how red his face is right now. 

There’s a silence, charged with something not unpleasant but not exactly comfortable. Kei would say or do something, but the rare show of vulnerability has his body frozen in its position. He trusts Tadashi, more than nearly anyone in his life, but years of emotional repression can only be undone so quickly. His jaw stays clenched.

A rustle of fabric draws Kei out of his thoughts— Tadashi is scooting over to sit closer to him. His arm is met with a solid warmth, followed by a head leaning on Kei’s shoulder, unbrushed hair tickling his jawline. Okay. Kei can handle this. He’s been even closer to Tadashi before, on crowded trains and in diner booths with a dozen other people. This is fine. Standard procedure.

He forces himself to relax, but nerves still get the better of him. His friend doesn’t mention it though, content to lean against his stiff side. He takes Kei’s hand into his again, stroking along the crook of Kei’s thumb and index finger. Kei reminds himself to _breathe_ , idiot, before interlacing their fingers as best he can. It looks a bit ridiculous, his buddy-taped fingers crowding Tadashi’s individual ones, but he has to forcibly hold back his smile at the sight. He thinks that he could get used to this. 

They only sit there for a couple minutes or so, before Yamaguchi resignedly assumes his Captain Persona and rushes them both out of the clubroom, yelling something about middle blockers being stupidly distracting. They reach the gym 20 minutes late to an earful from Coach Ukai, before he notices Kei’s heavily wrapped hands. They get off easy with the laps, thankfully. Yachi runs up to him after he’s done, water bottle offering in hand, and he takes it with a grateful nod— ignoring her knowing grin. 

—-

Their walk home after practice is… colorful, as always. Kageyama and Hinata are bickering for some brainless reason as always, meat bun crumbs flying from their mouths. Yachi, Tadashi, and Kei have long since learned that it’s best to walk a ways behind them whenever they’re like this. Their own conversation is much more subdued, Kei with his headphones on while the other two chat about the new snack selection in Sakanoshita. It’s not until Hinata, Kageyama, and Yachi break off to head to the train station that Tadashi sidles a little closer to Kei’s side, putting his hand on Kei’s wrist, where it enters his jacket pocket. Kei stops walking in surprise, looking down at his friend’s hand, then up to his face. 

Tadashi looks sheepish again, his eyes meeting Kei’s in a silent question. Kei would feign obliviousness any other day, but he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t looking forward to this ever since the clubroom earlier. Even during practice, he’d caught himself distracted by the strong, confident curve of Tadashi’s tanned fingers as he’d tossed the ball for a jump float serve. He doesn’t even know how he had seen so clearly across the court, he and Tadashi having been on opposite ends. Maybe he should thank Akiteru again for his new sports goggles.

He unpockets his hand and slides it into Tadashi’s warmer one, slotting his fingers easily between his own. Tadashi bites his lip to keep his smile from growing, though it’s pretty wide as it is already, much to Kei’s delight. He’s having a pretty hard time feigning nonchalance himself, can feel his ears turning much too red for the pleasant weather outside. 

Maybe Kei is just in an overly sentimental mood because of earlier, but he feels such a sudden rush of affection for Tadashi that it nearly bowls him over in its magnitude. He silently curses the power of nostalgia. It’s not as if they weren’t close before today, before the hand-holding— they bonded in other ways: sharing an overlapping taste in music, having eccentric eating habits, polishing their serve and block combination.

But now, walking with Tadashi’s warm hand enveloped in his, he remembers when they would do this as children. Every day after school, they would walk hand-in-hand to the gym for volleyball club, breaking apart into a run when the building came into sight. He doesn’t remember who grabbed whose hand first, but there’s no doubt that they did it nearly everywhere, no matter how mundane the situation. In one of the Tsukishimas’ old photo albums, there’s a snapshot of the two absently holding hands in front of the TV, faces open in awe at the screen. 

Back then, Tadashi’s hands had been smaller than Kei’s. They still are, in a sense: his fingers are shorter by a centimeter or two. Tadashi’s palm is wider though, much larger than it’d been all those years ago. It hits him suddenly, that the hand holding his own may as well belong to a completely different person. Well. Different isn’t the right word. Maybe… new.

“...sukki?” A nudge from an elbow. Tadashi doesn’t continue, just looks up at Kei expectantly. Kei gives him a questioning look, nodding at him to continue, and Tadashi shakes his head with a quiet laugh. 

“You’re the one who squeezed my hand, Tsukki,” he teases, giving a squeeze of his own. “What’re you thinking about? Your head’s been in the clouds all day.”

That’s unfair, Kei thinks. Tadashi doesn’t have to deal with, well. Having a crush on Tadashi.

“Maybe your head could be up in the clouds too, if you were tall enough,” he retorts, hoping to change the topic to safer territory.

Really, Kei is still thinking about the years they’ve spent together. Strictly speaking, they’ve been friends for almost a decade. He ruminates on how they’ve come together, drifted apart, and returned to each other, time and time again— almost like how the moon dips slowly over the peaks of their mountain, every night without fail.

He watches that moon now, just about to hit the summit of its climb through the dark sky. He considers its tireless return to the mountain every night: how the mountain rises up to bask in its glow. Considers how, each time the two bodies converge, there is something new about the other to admire. 

Belatedly, Kei realizes that he wants to do this forever. Be with Tadashi, for as long as the moon continues to rise above the mountain. The immensity of the idea hits him; he can feel it showing on his face. He tightens his hold on the hand by his side. Kei feels Tadashi’s hesitance before he hears his voice. 

“Is… is everything okay Tsukki? Those jammed fingers didn’t cut off circulation to your brain right? Oh I said that as a joke but now I’m really worried, please tell me that doesn’t actually happen—” 

“I’m fine, Yamaguchi,” Kei cuts him off with some exasperation, “and that could happen, but it’s unlikely mine would be serious enough to warrant an emergency room visit. You’d know this if you paid attention in class, no wonder you’re always over studying at my hou—“

“So you’re saying it’s possible??” 

“...”

—- 

It’s half past midnight. They’re lounging in Kei’s living room watching TV, leftovers from last night’s dinner sitting heavy in their stomachs. Usually they’d be in the dining room or Kei’s bedroom, but his family is out for the weekend, so for the night, they have free reign over the Tsukishima home.

A documentary is on, something about fossilization playing in the background. They’re slumped back lazily into the couch: thighs pressed together, Tadashi’s foot looped behind Kei’s calf. He feels socked toes nudging the muscle every couple of minutes, which he pushes back on gently. They’d been holding hands at the start of the movie, but it had gotten a bit sweaty. That alone wasn’t enough to deter them, but it was also a hassle to keep leaning over to grab popcorn off the coffee table, so they reluctantly let each other go 20 minutes in. 

Usually Kei would be preoccupied with the information on the screen, but today he finds his attention drifting more often than not. His mind keeps replaying the day he’d just had, skipping like a broken record player over certain moments: the feeling of a head on his shoulder, a hand squeezing his own, floating volleyballs ricocheting off pale skin. The small stretch of sky separating moon from mountain. Kei’s no longer the person he was in his first year, has long since grown into his formerly repressed ambition. There are some things though (some people), that he’d never had to reach too far for. Some muscles left unused, neglected.

There’s a knee bumping against Kei’s, requesting his attention. He turns to look at his best friend’s face, whose mouth has morphed into a frown. Kei should really work on controlling his facial expressions, with how many times Tadashi’s caught him in the middle of overthinking today.

The worry in Tadashi’s voice is palpable when he asks Kei, “hey, are you alright?” He puts his fist to Kei’s shoulder. “I know I already asked you earlier, but if you wanna you can talk to me about it. You can talk to me about anything!! I won’t make fun of you. Pinky promise.”

There’s a hard set to his eyes that makes them gleam in the low light of the room. He takes his fist from Kei’s shoulder and sticks his pinky out, dead serious about the entire situation. Kei’s not completely sure what to do; he ends up just staring at the outstretched finger, his eyebrows furrowing almost reflexively. 

Something shifts in Tadashi’s face then, enough that Kei can see it out of the corner of his eye. 

“I… I’m not making you uncomfortable am I? Am I moving too fast with the touching stuff? Oh geez Kei I’m really sorry—” 

Then he’s pulling his foot away from Kei’s shin and scooting over so that they’re no longer pressed up against each other, which makes Kei pout before he can think about hiding it. So much for controlling his expressions. There’s an uncomfortable look on Tadashi’s face now, closed off and a little embarrassed. Kei hadn’t even said anything yet, but he supposes that’s part of the problem at hand. 

Ever since they met in elementary school, it was Tadashi initiating most of their interactions. He was the first to offer a clumsy introduction, first to invite Kei over to his house after school. He’d been the first to confront the other, at that summer training camp years ago. Second, even, following up with it just weeks later after their win against Shiratorizawa. He’s started countless conversations with Kei. Negged at him to go to club bonding events until he agreed. Technically speaking, he’s even the first move during their on-court combination. Always a step ahead. Kei figures that it’s about time he’s the one to make the first move.

Before he can second-guess himself, Kei moves, swooping down to press his mouth to Tadashi’s cheekbone, right where it meets his temple. Belatedly, he remembers that he hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a long time. He forgets what he’s supposed to do for a second, but hesitantly pecks at the skin there, hoping that it’s enough. The soft sound of his lips practically reverbs through the silent room, documentary long since ended. He holds his breath, watching for Tadashi’s reaction. 

It’s dark now, light of the documentary no longer illuminating the room, but the TV is still on. This allows Kei to see Tadashi’s eyes widen, pupils blown and open. They’re starting to crinkle at the corners, lifted by a wobbly smile. Kei can feel his heartbeat in his ears; he averts his eyes to avoid melting his brain. 

He prepares himself for another not-not-uncomfortable silence, but it never comes. There’s a finger poking at his waist, light and insistent. Kei only grunts in response. Because apparently he’s a chimpanzee now. Except with a smaller brain, probably.

“Hey, Tsukki. Tsukkiiiii,” his demon needles, “I think you missed.”

Kei does not— okay, he misses occasionally, but he is quite sure he didn’t miss Tadashi’s cheek— Oh. 

There’s a calloused hand cradling his face. He feels fragile, suddenly, faced with Tadashi’s openly affectionate smile. Kei can tell that he’s waiting for him to move first, which. Fair. Even now, Tadashi’s still a step ahead of him. He can’t bring himself to care too much though: because the way it goes, even after time apart, they’ll find their way back to each other. It happened during their nationals match against Nekoma: the day they came together as lance and shield. It’s happening again, now: skin on skin, and hearts meeting in the middle. 

Kei leans forward, and closes the gap.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!! i love you and i hope you have a nice day/evening. because tsukkiyama are! they are gay. and happy. together.
> 
> anyway! some notes:
> 
> \- moon/mountain metaphor is inspired by the kanji for their last names! yamaguchi=mountain entrance; tsukishima=moon island  
> \- i have a spotify playlist i made for them which i listened to while writing this. it's here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1z7KPOSHsPnu1zOxH7U3t5?si=NZDW2aTwRLK5hvgmA0QSRA  
> \- my social medias are @geckoyama on twitter and @viibekiller on tumblr!  
> \- i'd really love to know what you think about my fic!!! share your love for tkym w/ me if you want <333 comments/kudos/etc. super loved and appreciated :)


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